


Recollections

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena Secret Santa, Book Club, F/F, Post-Break Up, Reunion, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Bernie has written her memoir. Serena first reads it at a book club with her new girlfriend. For Berena Secret Santa '18.





	Recollections

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Holby City or any of its characters, or its settings - all belongs to the folks at the BBC.
> 
> This is *beyond* late. Literally, this could be an entry for BSS '19. Basically, I am filling in for the original person who was supposed to fill this prompt, AND the person who signed up to pinch-hit them, and then I lost interest in Berena/Holby City, and I've only just now got around to editing the entry I wrote in March. Thus, this ignores any and all canon after then. And I am incredibly, deeply sorry for the lateness of this story.
> 
> For elitryalittle, the prompt 'Whatever happens, just hold on'. I really hope you like it.

Serena hadn't even read the blurb on the back before she'd bought the book. Just glanced at the title ('_Whatever Happens, Just Hold On'), _handed a crisp ten-pound note to the cashier at _Waterstones, _and shoved the hardback into the depths of her bag. Rebecca, the woman Serena was casually seeing, had invited her to join her book club this coming Friday. She'd bought the hardback on the Monday (ranked high on the bestseller chart), and hoped to read enough chapters between patients so she didn't sound like an utter prat over wine and cheese.

A hospital-wide emergency and a sick Guinevere had put paid to that.

Now, Serena was in Rebecca's living room, surrounded by six other women she did not know, and holding her second glass of Shiraz. She made polite conversation as Rebecca prepared the drinks, snacks, and talking points. As the others in the book club discussed a mutual friend, Serena drifted towards the book she had not read. Had not even _glanced _at. Breathing deeply, Serena began to read the blurb to gain some idea of what the evening ahead held.

> _This book is the real-life account of Bee, an army surgeon of over two decades. It discusses her time in Iraq and Afghanistan, the end of her marriage, and her acceptance of her long-hidden sexuality. _

"No. _No._" Serena skimmed the book, looking at chapter titles. "She would have told me. She would have said _something_."

Despite Serena’s insistence otherwise, and the anonymous name and author photo, she knew who was behind _Whatever Happens, Just Hold On. _Berenice _bloody _Wolfe. Bernie, who had barely managed to complete her paperwork during her tenure at Holby, had written a four hundred page _book. _Covering, from the looks of it, everything from her early childhood with the Brigadier to her relationship with Serena. She snatched at her wine and drained it. A shaky hand poured a third glass.

How _dare _she do this. Without saying a single _bloody _word!

Simmering in the corner of the room, oblivious to the other women in the book club, Serena considered all her interactions with Bernie in the two and a half years since they had parted ways. Christmas and birthday cards; always a parcel delivered three days before Guinevere's birthday. A handful of emails and two phone calls (one after Cam had been stabbed whilst working on AAU; another when Greta and Jason announced they were expecting again). One painful meeting, at her son's bedside. No mention of any book. No announcement of '_hi, Serena, intimate details about our relationship are going to be published by Picador'. _Just an email, a year and a half ago, about her therapist getting her to write a few things down…

_Oh. _

Infrequent contact over the years made it easy to find Bernie's last email:

> _Hi, Serena, it's Bernie. _
> 
> _Over the past few months I've been seeing someone for my PTSD. They suggested I write things down; get them out that way. It's rather snowballed and become something _else. _I felt like you should read it. I _want _you to read it. If there are any issues, please let me know. _
> 
> _Bernie. _

And there, as an attachment, was the first draft of the book now resting in Serena's lap.

Serena had never replied. Never even opened the attachment. Hadn't wanted to know, with time and space, what Bernie thought of _her _and _them._ And now the whole country knew: there were seven copies, seven people in this room, who knew _exactly_ what Bernie thought of her, and them, after all this time. Her grief over Elinor. Her moment of madness with Leah. It was all in black and white. Serena wondered, briefly, how others had fared: Marcus, the children, Bernie's parents. Even her colleagues at Holby.

She didn't want to find out.

"Shall we begin, ladies?"

Rebecca sat beside Serena: a notebook with a series of discussion points on one knee; a hardback cover the same colour as Bernie's trauma scrubs on the other. The rest of the book club retrieved reading glasses and note cards; all of them ready to pick apart Bernie's book. At least Serena had some idea as to the plot points: she'd lived them, after all.

"So, general view of the book: did we enjoy it?" A roundhouse of nods; Serena felt her head bob. "I have to say, I was _enthralled. _Her life has been so compelling, and for a first-time writer, I was impressed."

There was a brief discussion on the author's _voice _(they would never get to hear her laugh; the pages unable to capture the sound, or the smile it always conjured in Serena), and her _pacing _(was never one to slow down; always needed to get to the point as quickly as possible). Serena made her way through her third glass of wine as the discussion made a brief detour to other books in the _medical memoir _genre. Then someone brought up the theme of _family _and _sexuality _and Serena's mouth went dry.

"I mean, it's quite common for women of our generation to be subject to compulsive heterosexuality. Especially when – reading between the lines – you get pregnant out of wedlock." One of the group, Jane, flicked through to a chapter entitled _The Burst Bubble._ "She doesn't make excuses, either, for the affair or lying to her husband, M."

"Him calling her parents was a bit uncalled for, though."

_Bit uncalled for— _"Something of an understatement, don't you think?" Serena heard herself ask. "She was denied the opportunity to come out to her children and her parents. And whilst she's been able to maintain a relationship with her kids, her relationship with her family has never recovered."

Georgie, on her right, started flicking through the pages. "I don't remember reading that bit."

_You wouldn't. Cameron mentioned, offhand, that he missed Easter with his Grandparents; hadn't been invited since his idiot father had called the Brigadier to stick it to his wife one last time. _"I'm sure it's in there, somewhere."

On her left, Rebecca offered a supportive smile. "I'm sure it is. There's a lot to unpack here; lots of important relationships. What I thought most interesting was the signposting of her relationship with S early on in the second half of the book."

_Guess that's me. _"Really? I–I didn't think it was that blatant."

Harriet, who had been displaced from her usual chair at book group thanks to Serena's presence, gave a withering stare across the room. "I think we could all agree that the author signposted S's importance as soon as the new part of the book began. I mean, it's her first day, we're all engaged in her battle to adjust to family life, and then there's this paragraph:

> _After being dressed down by my new commander-in-chief, I headed outside for a cigarette. My 'last' cigarette; the cigarette I had been holding onto all these years. The last part of the person I was. Outside, I was met by a brunette yelling at a car engine. I'd clocked her on arrival earlier that day; she was still out there. I knew, watching her, that I should keep my distance. That associating with a beautiful, passionate woman would undo the work I was trying to achieve. But I walked over anyway. She _would_ be my undoing. But she'd also make me whole. It started with five words. Engine—"_

"—been growling or whining," Serena finished, remembering her first meeting with Bernie Wolfe in vivid detail. That particular paragraph ended with the words: _She's not part of this story yet, not really. Our story comes later. _"You're right; S's importance is definitely foreshadowed." 

A few supportive nods. Jane picked up the thread of conversation. "I might be in the minority, but I found her recollection of her relationship with S much more compelling than her chapters of the war. She's fighting a different battle, but an important one: not falling in love with her colleague; keeping them both afloat during the death of S's daughter. And then the end of their relationship; the writing on the wall as soon as S gets on that plane. Certainly better than a lot of the romantic fiction we've read."

Harriet snorted; lips pursed into a frown. "I _thoroughly _disagree. It wasn't a grand romance: just two people in close proximity who were attracted to each other. The daughter's death, and the long-distance relationship, just extended their shelf life."

"Not at _all._" Seven heads turned towards Serena. She faltered under their stares. "_I mean, the way I interpreted it, _life just pulled them apart. They were meant to be together, but life kept getting in the way." 

It was only Jane who nodded. Georgie politely demurred from challenging her point. Harriet, however, had no such qualms. "Utterly ridiculous. Do you honestly think that if the daughter hadn't died, they'd be living in S's four bedroom home and still working on the ward? That Bee would be _happy _with that arrangement?"

"I—"

"—because this book isn't _about _their relationship. It's about Bee. Every part of her journey – including S – is about getting her to the point we see in the epilogue. S was never meant to be her…Georgie, what's that word you used to describe Elizabeth and Mister Darcy?"

"Endgame."

Harriet's eyes glinted. "That's right. _Endgame. _S isn't Bee's happy ever after. We see that in the epilogue. She was just another stepping stone to get her where she needed to be: running her own trauma centre, with a woman who loves and supports her career. S was never going to be that person."

Serena sat back in her seat, and let the rest of the discussion wash over her. Her glass of wine remained untouched; Rebecca's light hand on her knee ignored. Serena just sat, and stared, at the back of Bernie's book. The final word on their love. It had not come in Albie's, on the day of Jason's wedding, when they both agreed that love was sometimes not enough. It was here. Serena realising that their love would never have been enough; that the stars would never have aligned. That they never would.

As Rebecca called for a break, Serena took her hand. "You know, I'm feeling rather ill. I think I'll go home; get an early night."

"Are you sure?" Rebecca glanced towards Harriet, silently glowering in the corner. "I know she can be intense, but I never imagined you the type to back down from a fight."

"Normally, I'm not, but I gave up this fight a long time ago." Serena leaned in, and brushed her lips against Rebecca's cheek. "I'll call you."

She wouldn't.

Outside, in the cool night air, Serena called for a taxi. She would go home, open a _much _better bottle of Shiraz, and scroll through pictures of Bernie on her phone until she fell asleep. She'd picked at this wound over the years every time their paths had crossed. But it had never ached and _bled _this way before. Bernie's stitches – the possibility of _her _and _them _– had held it together. Bernie herself had healed and moved on. It was time Serena did as well.

"Can we go to the high street first?" Serena asked the driver as she crawled inside the back of the cab.

A ten-minute drive, and they were outside the _Waterstones _where Serena had bought this wretched book only a few days before. She handed the driver a tenner, ignored her change, and threw herself out the car door. In her slight inebriation – in her _anger_ – Serena had forgotten that most bookshops closed around six o'clock. It was now nearly nine, and the lights in _Waterstones _were dark. In the window, the outline of Bernie's book mocked her. _Whatever Happens, Just Hold On. _Ridiculous title. They'd never held onto each other. Why would they? They were just relationship catalysts. Nothing more.

Serena pressed her forehead against the glass window. "I just wanted to return this _bloody _book!" 

"Probably a good thing; I hear it gets quite dark in places."

_Oh, you've got to be— _Serena lifted her head from the glass. If she believed in a God, she'd think he had it out for her. "Bernie. _Hello._"

"Hello yourself." Her hair was longer. Still seemed uncomfortable in any item of clothing that wasn't scrubs. Still beautiful, and wonderful, and still made Serena's pulse quicken. "I was across the road with Charlotte; thought I'd walk over and say hello."

"Right, _right._ How, um, is Charlotte?" Serena asked, wanting to talk about anything other than Bernie's memoir tucked into the crook of her arm. Charlotte seemed like a safe and lengthy topic of small talk: Cameron had come into work a few weeks before and announced he was to be an uncle. "Pregnancy treating her well?"

Bernie snorted. "Better than mine. Apart from the cravings, that is: we were watching the new series of _Doctor Who, _and suddenly my daughter needed to have a battered Mars bar. Chippy across the road is the only place in Holby that does them. I did consider bribing someone, but I didn't want to set a bad example to my unborn grandchild."

"But Charlotte would be okay."

"Charlotte's five months pregnant and spent the last four being unable to keep anything down: she'd sell Cam's kidney for a battered Mars bar." Bernie honked; Serena falling into laughter alongside her. A pause, and then a brush of Bernie's fingers against hers. "It was good to see you, Serena. You look…you look _good._"

"Thank you. You–you do too."

Small talk gave way to silence; neither sure what to offer next in way of conversation. Serena considered challenging Bernie on the book (_a little heads up would be nice; how much detail did you go into about Elinor, Jasmine; do you really see me, _us, _as a stepping stone to something else?) _but instead, she just tucked it further underneath her arm. Bernie caught the slight movement; the smile on her mouth fading at the corners.

"I'm sorry about the book. I know I sent you the first draft; I should have sent you a copy of the author's notes at the end, too. I suppose I was afraid."

"Afraid?" _You live in Nairobi, Bernie, an entire continent away. You couldn't have been afraid of a confrontation. _

"I was afraid of your reaction, of…_this, _basically. The extinguishing of hope."

"I don't understand." Serena got the book out and began flicking through the pages. "In all honesty, Bernie, I haven't read your book. I didn't even read your email back then because I was afraid of what you thought. And tonight I had to listen to seven other women tear apart our relationship based on your words, so I don't know what _you _have to be afraid of." Serena reached the author's notes. Her finger stabbed the page, and ran down a list of soldiers, surgeons, and those of the Sapphic persuasion, until she reached S. "Right, so, _And to S—"_

> _To S. Partner, co-lead, friend. I had to write an ending to this story, but I don't consider ours written yet._

"I didn't want to open old wounds; didn't want to embarrass you and whoever you're dating by being the clingy ex who can't move on. And in print, no less." Serena looked up to find Bernie staring at her; eyes glassy. "When I was doing the final draft, I _hated _how it all seemed to come together without you. That our story, _our love, _could be wrapped up in a couple of paragraphs. We're more than that. You're more than that to me."

Serena bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from crying in the middle of Holby's high street. "Me too. You are still the love of my life. Always will be."

"Obviously, I'm not that good of a writer, if your friends tonight thought _any _different." Their fingers brushed again; this time intertwining. "And the epilogue's out of date, anyway. I'm no longer dating the anaesthetist, and I've left Nairobi and moved back to Holby."

Her heart raced. "You have?"

Bernie nodded. "My granddaughter is my next big adventure. Charlotte's got a photo of the scan, if you'd like to see." She paused, uncertainty flooding her stiff frame. "We could find a quiet pub; you could help us go through the baby-naming book. I think you'd have a lot more fun with that than _Whatever Happens, Just Hold On._"

_This is it. The next chapter, the sequel: this is it. Us. _

"A quiet pub sounds lovely. I'll keep the book for now, though. If I get the author to sign it, I might flog it on eBay."

Bernie's laugh cut through the still night air. Across the road, a visibly pregnant Charlotte waved. Serena tucked the book into her bag, and readjusted her grip on Bernie's hand. For the first time in years, they walked in the same direction together. 


End file.
